


Dr. McKay and the Attack of the Killer Cucumber

by AnneZo



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:59:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneZo/pseuds/AnneZo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You stole our scientist," John said. "We want him back.</p><p>Minor silliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dr. McKay and the Attack of the Killer Cucumber

 

 "You stole our scientist," John said. "We want him back.

 "The Dr. McKay is being kind enough to consult with our botanists," the shifty-eyed negotiator said. "He is happy and well."

  _Botanists_ and _happy_ were two words that didn't belong in the same sentence, not if you were talking about Rodney McKay. "Then take us to him," John suggested, for the fourth time.

 "Very important work." Turgoin's beady brown eyes said he was lying. "Not to be interrupted!"

 Ronon sighed and pulled his stunner, examining the settings with elaborate, and menacing, care.

 " _Peaceful_ explorers! You said _peaceful_." Turgoin's eyes went crazy. Around them, the crowd of people went—very peacefully—about their own business. A few glanced over at them and smiled vaguely but other than that, no one seemed at all interested in the visitors. Except for McKay; someone had walked off with him right under John's nose.

 "We're very peaceful," John agreed. "With everyone who _doesn't steal our scientists_. With the people that do—not so much."

 "Sit." Turgoin waved to the table. "Feast! Release your fears. The Dr. McKay has no fear. He is happy and well."

 John _did not_ like the repetition of those words. Also, he wasn't crazy about the whole 'release your fears' thing. Too close to that whole "burden" thing tied in with ascension and failed ascension and general Ancient wackiness. "Okay, I tell you what. You go ahead and have your little—snack, or whatever, and we'll just go find him ourselves."

 The Potarians had a lot of food, John would give them that. The feast table was loaded. Fruits, including something John could swear was an apple, salads, something that looked like a freakishly huge red-orange cucumber that he kept trying not to stare at. They would make good trading partners. _Would have made_ , he corrected. Because they'd lured McKay away somewhere and had been refusing to produce him for the last fifteen minutes and John was about ten seconds from shifting from _peaceful, scientific expedition_ to _ass-kicking, home delivery_.

 "He is far from here," Turgoin said desperately. "Much time will be lost in the search. Sit and feast with us, while we wait."

  _Wheeet_! Ronon's energy weapon powered on. "Let's go," he said.

 John glanced around the city—it was almost that, with all the greenhouses and gray stone buildings. "Okay." He pointed east. "Last time I saw him, he was over there." Something on the planet, probably something in the nearby mountains, was blocking their radio signals. They'd have to rely on good, old house-to-greenhouse search.

 "You _cannot_ go." Turgoin waved his arms. "None who have not feasted at our table can walk the streets of our world."

 "McKay did." Ronon eyed him, then looked at John. "Ready?"

 "I am telling you, you cannot." Turgoin seemed to think telling them _no_ was eventually going to produce results. (Okay, it might. Ronon might _shoot_ him.) "I have spoken." He crossed his arms, his mouth pouting.

 "And I'm telling you, we're going to." John turned to Ronon. "Okay, let's go."

 "No, no, _no_." Turgoin flapped his arms again. "You are—this is not _peaceful_." He waved at the table again. "Sit. Eat." He hesitated, then blurted out, "He has gone to speak with Those Who Came Before. It is an honor and not to be refused, but I will send word to tell the Dr. McKay you wish to see him. If he wishes, he can come to you."

 "We wish to go to him," John said. He knew what he thought about 'honors' you weren't allowed to turn down. "We'll find our own way, thanks." Something clicked in his brain—those who came— _goddammit_. If McKay had gone off to die in another busted Ancient ascend-o-meter, John was going to _kill_ him.

 "You _cannot—_ "

 Ronon shot him.

 "He was right. That wasn't very peaceful," John mentioned, eyeing the negotiator's limp body. Around them, the Potarians who had been going about their business were all frozen in place.

 "He's not dead," Ronon defended. "We going now?"

 "Yeah." John swung his P90 in front of him and looked around. "We're going to make a _peaceful_ search for our friend," he said loudly. "Anyone else have a problem with that?"

 The crowd thinned and John could hear doors closing. In less than thirty seconds, he and Ronon were the only—conscious—people in sight.

 "The guy said botanists," John said, leading the way. "We should start with the greenhouses."

 "Probably lying." Ronon followed him. 

"It's a place to start." John thought about searching the buildings they passed on their way, but if someone had dragged McKay into one of those, they'd have heard him yelling, even without the radio. He'd been taken—lured—somewhere farther away and the greenhouses fit that description.

 At the first one, Ronon eyed the flimsy door, then kicked it in, glass (the Potarians had discovered glass) shattering and wood cracking.

 "It might not have been locked," John pointed out. He kicked the rest of the frame loose and stepped past Ronon to look around.

 "Didn't really care." Ronon covered his back. The building was filled with long rows of plants, sitting low to the floor. The plants were loaded with the bluish tomato-things that smelled like fish. They didn't really need to do much of a search—there was no one there and no place to hide.

 They moved on to the second building.

 "Hey!"

 Ronon already had a foot raised to kick in the second door when John stopped him."What?"

 "My turn." John eyed the door, picked a good spot, and sent most of the door flying inward. The sound of glass shattering was—good. They were making a lot of noise. If McKay was anywhere around, he'd know they were looking for him.

 The plants got taller as they worked their way from building to building, moving fast. Eventually they started having to actually search each building, which slowed them down. At first, they ran across a few Potarians—probably actually botanists, or maybe just gardeners, but the later greenhouses were deserted. By the way tools were thrown around, John figured the locals had heard them coming.

 Which was—potentially bad. Whoever was holding McKay would hear them, too. There were half a dozen buildings left to search before they started on the homes and businesses. "Keep it down," he ordered Ronon. "We're probably getting close."

 Ronon nodded and started opening doors, instead of destroying them.

 The fourth door he opened— _paydirt_. McKay's voice at the other end of the building. John frowned. McKay wasn't yelling. He was kidnapped, trapped in a greenhouse, he was talking to botanists, and he wasn't _yelling._ Something was seriously wrong.

 "I don't want to." McKay's voice—was it shaking? "Look, I've already told you this a dozen times. You're not _listening._ " John motioned to Ronon and they crept forward through the positively jungle-like growth. He was banging his head into one of those overgrown cinnamon-colored cucumbers every other step but he couldn't spare time to crawl under them.

 "You _must_ ," a woman's voice cooed. This voice had a sort of _Fatal Attraction_ thing going that made the hair on the back of John's neck stand up. "Enlightenment and peace come to those who do."

 "I wasn’t—I didn't ask for enlighten— _hey!_ " That was a little more McKay-like. " _No._ "

 "Yes," the woman said firmly. "Hold him."

 McKay said something else, his voice was muffled, but John missed it in the crash of pottery as he and Ronon stampeded through the remaining shrubbery and into a clear space at the end of the building.

 Five people—women. Four holding Rodney down in a chair. John's vision went red around the edges. The fifth bending over him with a handful of—salad?

 "What the _hell_ is going on here?"

 Salad-woman frowned over her shoulder. "You should not be here. You should be feasting in peace." It was remotely possible that most of these people had never _seen_ a gun and didn't understand what was going on. John demonstrated, turning the P90 loose on the nearest wall. Glass exploded outward in a satisfying and, he hoped, _enlightening_ , rain of destruction. He nailed a few plants along the way—the cucumbers had it coming for assaulting him on the way in.

 Rodney spit out the greenery she'd been stuffing in his mouth. "John! Help!"

  _John_. Rodney always called him _Colonel_. Especially on missions. "I asked a question," he said to salad-woman.

 "The Dr. McKay has decided to remain on our planet and become one of us," she said brazenly. Apparently she didn't think he could _see_ her friends holding McKay in a chair while she force-fed him lettuce.

 "No," Rodney said, his voice quivering again. "No, _no._ I didn't. Don't believe her."

 "I don't," John said. He waved the P90 at McKay's captors. "What say you turn him loose and line up against the wall?"

 "He will _stay_ ," salad-woman said. She turned back to Rodney and grabbed his chin.

 Ronon shot her.

 John enjoyed watching her fall. "Against the wall," he ordered the other four. " _Now_."

 "He has not achieved enlightenment." One of the crazy salad women was dumb enough to keep arguing, even as her friends turned loose of Rodney and backed away.

 As soon as he was free, Rodney jumped—lurched—up and ran—staggered—to John. "What took you so long?" John swung the P90 aside; by now McKay knew better than to get in front of a loaded gun but John would cut him some slack this once.

 "Sheppard?" Ronon watched Rodney throw himself at John, wrapping his arms around John's waist.

 "Leave one of them standing," John told Ronon. Rodney was breathing and talking, so whatever the salad shit was, he wasn't allergic to it. That was one thing, anyhow. "To answer questions."

 "I hate them," Rodney moaned into his neck. "Shoot them _all_." Ronon's gun fired.

 "What did they do?" John wrapped his left arm around Rodney, feeling his body shake. He shifted him to the side, to clear John's line of fire toward the door. It was always possible that _someone_ on the planet would grow a pair and come after them. Ronon's gun fired a second time.

 "Not good." Rodney whispered. His mouth moved against John's neck in a way that was—inappropriately disturbing, under the circumstances. Ronon's gun fired a third time. Really inappropriate. "This is not good." Also, Rodney wasn't talking _half_ as much as he should be.

 "How much of that stuff did they feed you?" John demanded. "What is it?"

 "No." Rodney's shaking intensified. "Don't ask. Don't want. Make it _stop_." His mouth pressed against the skin under John's ear. "No."

 Didn't _feel_ like 'no', but— Ronon's gun fired a fourth time. "I said to leave one of them standing," John told him. "To answer questions."

 "This one's coming around." Ronon was already tying salad-woman number one to Rodney's chair, using the rope belts she and the others had been wearing.

 " _Oh_ ," Rodney breathed. "Let's go." He _snuffled_ John's neck. "Leave now."

 Okay, this was not right. "McKay? Are you tracking?"

 " _Mmm_ ," Rodney nuzzled him behind the ear. "M'here. You're here."

 "Oh, my god," John realized. "You're _stoned_ , aren't you?" He shook Rodney gently. "McKay. _Think_. Talk to me."

 "Yes." Rodney sighed—a small breath of air against John's newly sensitized neck that made him want to tilt his head and invite more. "Not s'posed to be. Eat it all—commune with Ancients."

 "And why in the hell did you take off alone to _commune with the Ancients_?" John was getting pissed. He tried to push Rodney away but Rodney's grip on his 'tac vest—and his waist—was solid. "Can you stand on your own?" He looked at Ronon. "Grab us a sample of that stuff," he ordered. "She tell you anything?"

 "Dizzy," Rodney objected. "Tired." He laid his head on John's shoulder. "Rest."

 "No," Ronon said. "Just what he said. You eat a couple of handfuls of the stuff and then you get to visit the Ancients. She says the effect only lasts a couple of hours."

 "The journey must be finished," Salad-woman contributed. "It is not good to stop on the path."

 "Define 'not good'," John ordered.

 "Instead of joy and enlightenment, one achieves only—" she looked at Rodney and shrugged. "Distraction. Although," she looked sly. "We have ways of _easing_ the needsof an unfinished journey. Pleasant ways. If you would like us to care for him…."

 The implications opened up a whole new world of weird that John didn't want to explore. He could live with a little grabbiness as a worst-case scenario. "McKay, you still haven't explained what the hell you thought you were doing."

 "Wasn't doing," Rodney said, his lips on John's neck again. "Turn around. Say hello. Ancient device. Not working right. Go, look." He sighed. "So _pretty_."

 "You're not supposed to run off with strangers," John reminded him. "Not even the pretty ones."

 "Not _them_." Rodney sounded crabby, which was an improvement over the previous stage. "Ancient _tech_. Pretty."

 Ronon's gun sounded again—four short bursts. He'd knocked out the four salad fiends again. The woman in the chair glared at them—also an improvement over the disturbingly placid way everyone on this planet had been behaving.

 "Knife," Rodney murmured. "She had a knife." Rodney was—not fond of people standing over him with knives, not since that thing with the Genii. "Held me down. I thought—. But it was for the plants. To cut the leaves."

 Giant cucumber leaves. Okay.

 Rodney's panic attack had probably already been full-blown by the time he'd realize that, though, John guessed. "You got the stuff?" He asked Ronon.

 "Yeah." Ronon tucked a knife back in its sheath and pocketed a handful of vials. "Some of the leaves. Some blood samples for the docs, too."

 John looked at where three of the five women had red blood trickling down their arms and really didn't care. "Okay, grab one of those." He nodded toward the—vegetables? And tried not to look at them. "Let's get out of here."

 "Home?" Rodney stirred. "Can we go home? _Home_ home?"

 John shifted his grip, turning Rodney toward the door. "Where's that?"

 " _Atlantis_." Rodney pulled up the focus to glare at him. "The _lab_. Radek."

 "Radek is home?" John had never suspected—.

 "No." Rodney sighed again, more than a little of his normal _please don't be so stupid_ attitude pushing to the surface. "But I _like_ him."

 "You do?" John—had to ask.

 " _Yes_." Rodney sorted out his feet; they'd been giving him some trouble, and started toward the door. "You know why?"

 "No, but if you want to tell me—." It was wrong to take advantage of a stoned teammate, John knew but—irresistible, really.

 "In all the years I've known him, he has _never once_ given me a choice between eating alien lettuce and being sexually assaulted." Rodney rocked to a halt. "Can we shoot them some more?"

 "No." John glanced at Ronon, who had a three-foot cucumber slung across his shoulder. It was—just wrong, although John was glad to see he'd wrapped a cloth around his hand before he'd touched it. "We're leaving."

 "Spoilsport." Rodney moved forward, trying hard to carry his own weight. "Home, now."

 "Home," John agreed. "You know, I'm kind of surprised you chose the lettuce. I mean—all things considered." They were at the door. He glanced around but there was no one in sight.

 "Kidnapping, lying _tramps_ ," Rodney babbled. "Alien ferns. I am not that _easy_."

 "Okay, I get the kidnapping part," John agreed. "But where did the lying come in?"

 "Nothing wrong with their stupid machine." Rodney blinked, frowning around. "Was all a trick." He huffed. "Not _now_."

 "What did you do?" Ronon sounded admiring.

 "I _broke_ it," Rodney said triumphantly. He glared into the distance. "Two— _two_ of them _pinched_ me. And they tried to—. They startled me and my hand slipped. And then they wanted me to fix it but I said I couldn't and then there was—" he swayed, "—the chair and the knife and the force-feeding, and then John finally came, although it took _days_ and Ronon _shot_ them," he finished with smug satisfaction. " _Twice_ , which was even better."

  _It took days._ "It was about an hour and we were looking for you, buddy. Every minute." John decided they really should focus on getting out of here. "You think you're going to remember this when you come down?"

 "I hope not." Rodney shuddered. "I really hope not."

 "So, you broke their machine. That means no more weird vegetables?" Ronon asked, waving the cucumber.

 Rodney gave him a dubious look. "It wasn't for the vegetables and please never tell me what you do with that thing. It was for the _Ancients_."

 "You—what—eat the holy lettuce and then the machine produces Ancients?"

 "State of _mind_." Rodney tripped over a particularly tricky slice of thin air and John caught him. "The lettuce was for—" He waved vaguely. "Receptive."

 They had to get past Turgoin, of course. The rest of the Potarians were still in hiding, but he'd planted himself in front of the Gate, arms crossed, glaring. Some people never learned. "You _cannot—_ "

 Ronon shot him.

 John dialed Atlantis and sent his IDC through. Rodney pressed his ear against John's listening for the response through the radio. John had no idea where Rodney's headset had gone.

  _"Colonel Sheppard?"_ Radek's voice. " _How is the mission_?"

 "We're coming through—," John started.

 " _Radek_!" Rodney yelled into his ear. "I have _missed_ you!"

 " _Dr. McKay?_ " Radek sounded shaken. _"What—"_

 _"_ Dr. McKay is a bit—" John hesitated.

 " _Simpson,_ " Radek yelled. " _Medical team to the Gate room, immediately. Colonel Sheppard, the shield is down_."

 John hauled Rodney into the wormhole, ducking when Ronon swung around and almost brained him with the three-foot cucumber.

 He didn't even want to think about the post-mission briefing for _this_ trip.

 

 

*~end~*

 


End file.
